


Send Your Cutest Delivery Boy

by ghiblitears



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bike Courier! Keith, Ficlet, Humor, M/M, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-14 04:29:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14128086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghiblitears/pseuds/ghiblitears
Summary: Keith is a bike courier for U-Eat. Lance orders takeout way too often. Getting in a car accident on your way to a delivery is not how anyone wants to start their day, but sometimes it's instrumental in getting to know someone.





	Send Your Cutest Delivery Boy

**Author's Note:**

> i literally cranked this oneshot out in an hour and a half of furious inspiration. please enjoy <3

Getting hit by a car is not how Keith wants to start his day, but sometimes that’s just how things go. One minute he’s turning a corner onto Fairview, the next something slams into his back tire and knocks him clean off his bike. He sprawls on the pavement, rolling until he comes to a stop at the end of the curb. He stares up at the blue sky, blinking until the spots in his vision clear.

 

A loud honk and a squeal of tires announce the offending car leaving the scene. Keith groans, pushing up onto his elbows just in time to see it speed down the street. Hit-and-run drivers are _jerks_. Then he sees where his delivery bag landed (pretty far from where he got hit, he notices), open and spilling its contents onto the sun-warmed sidewalk. The Chinese takeout has exploded out of its container to throw itself into the dirt. Then he cranes his head back towards his bike, which is now sporting a mangled back wheel.

 

 _Ugh_.

 

The whole thing is an annoyance more than anything. He’s not injured (he thinks), but he scraped his right leg and elbow on the pavement when he bailed and it stings like a motherfucker. His bike is busted. The order is unsalvageable.

 

This is going to be a hell of an incident to explain to management.

 

The sound of footsteps draws his attention to a woman running towards him. She has her phone out, waving it towards him like a white flag.

 

“I got the license plate,” she says, reaching down to help him to his feet. “And I called an ambulance. They’ll be here in a few minutes.”

 

Keith shakes his head. “Thank you, but that’s really not necessary. I’m fine.”

 

Her eyes go wide. “You _flew_ when that car hit you. At least get checked out for a concussion!” She stares pointedly at the blood that’s beginning to flow from the scrapes and cuts on his leg. He grimaces; it looks worse than it is, but he has a feeling he’s not going to be able to talk her out of it. A few more passers-by have stopped, clearly wondering if they should help him out or not.

 

Keith looks back at his broken bike and sighs. He’s not going anywhere. He might as well let them.

 

***

 

After getting off the phone with management, Keith grabs the receipt from the delivery order. The EMTs said it was fine for him to keep calling, but they insist on going through injury protocol while he does. They’ve finished shining bright lights in his eyes when he goes to get the receipt, settling himself back on the curb. He should have this number hotkeyed by now, he thinks, with the amount of times this guy orders.

 

Weird Takeout Guy had become a regular customer of Keith’s, somehow always ordering when he was on shift and in the right delivery zone. At least twice a week, sometimes three, and always just for himself. It was kind of ridiculous. But he was cute, and it helped that he tipped 25% on every single order (Keith had started to wonder if he’d accidentally acquired a sugar daddy somewhere along the path of being a bike courier). Between the joke-flirting and his insistence on giving him weird nicknames (Emo Bike Man, Kiki’s Delivery Service, and Zuko’s Day Job were all things he’d been called), he actually seemed like a nice person. Keith feels kind of bad about fucking up his order.

 

Lance McClain picks up on the third ring. “Hello?”

 

“Hey, it’s Keith from U-Eat. I’m really sorry about this, but I’m gonna be late with your order. I got hit by a car.”

 

“You WHAT?!” Lance screeches. Keith winces, holding his phone it about a foot away from his head.

 

“I talked to management already, so you’ll get a full refund and another driver will be by within a half hour with your food,” he continues, mentally conjuring the standard protocol for late delivery. “If you have any complaints I can give you my supervisor’s name—“

 

“Stopstopstop. You got hit by a car and you want to know if I have _complaints_? Are you okay, dude?”

 

Keith is surprised. “I — yeah, I’m fine. The car just grazed me. I flew like fifteen feet apparently, though.”

 

“You flew fifteen feet after getting hit by a car and _you’re asking me about complaints_?” Lance asks in a high voice.

 

Keith sighs. The EMT picks up his elbow to check for a full range of motion and he shifts the phone to his other ear. He hisses when they prod the scrapes. “I’m _fine_ ,” he insists, and he’s not sure if it’s directed to the EMT or to Lance.

 

“Dude, I’m so sorry. I feel awful. Can I make it up to you? Where are you?”

 

“Fairview and Pine. Look, it’s no big deal. I gotta go anyway — I need to get my bike fixed.”

 

“No. Stay right there. I’m coming by in like ten minutes,” Lance says, and abruptly hangs up. Keith stares down at his phone for a moment before shoving it in his pocket.

 

The ambulance leaves a few minutes later (at his insistence) and he’s in the middle of ordering an Uber when a car pulls up in front of him and honks. He looks up to see Lance in the driver’s seat of a bright blue BMW that looks like it’s seen better days. He parks and jumps out of the car, striding towards Keith before he can even stand up.

 

Keith glowers. “I really don’t need any help, okay?”

 

“It’s my fault your bike is busted,” he says. He crosses his lanky arms over his chest and stares down at him with determination. “Let me at least give you a ride home.”

 

Keith sighs. “Fine. Whatever.”

 

They pile the bike in the backseat with some difficulty, and within a couple minutes they’re driving down Fairview again. Keith sulks in the passenger seat, trying not to look at the way the sunlight catches the planes and angles of Lance’s face, tries not to stare at the muscles in his arms (thanks to the muscle shirt he’s sporting), tries to ignore how those wide blue eyes are watching his every move.

 

When they take a left onto Maple Street, Keith shoots him a pointed look. “Are we going to your house?”

 

“My roommate’s a mechanic. He might be able to help you with your bike.”

 

“Lance, you _really_ don’t need to do this. I’ve been hit by cars before. It’s fine.”

 

Lance breaks for a stop sign. “But it’s my fault it happened. Let me do something for you, okay?”

 

“You could just date me and call it even.”

 

Lance freezes, his eyes going wide. They don’t move for several moments, and it’s only when the car behind them honks that he’s startled back into action. The car jerks forward as he steps on the gas pedal. “Did you just —“

 

“That’s why you order so much, right?” Keith really hopes he’s not wrong, but judging by Lance’s reaction he’s right on the money. “Next time just ask for my number. Maybe then I won’t get hit by a car.”

 

“I — what — How the fuck did you figure that out?” Lance demands, pulling the car into a parallel park outside his apartment — a sight Keith knows well. His face is bright red as he navigates the car into a space and turns off the ignition.

 

“Are you kidding me? You flirt with me every time I show up. You put ‘send your cutest delivery boy’ in the special instructions of _every single order_ , Lance.”

 

“That was a joke!” he says. Then he pauses, and turns sheepishly to face him. “Well, maybe at first it was.”

 

They sit in silence for a moment before Lance speaks up again; “So, uh, if you were serious... wanna go for coffee next Thursday? Café Leon?”

 

Keith shrugs. “Sure. If you’re not gonna pay my hospital bills, you might as well pay for my coffee.”

 

The sight of Lance beaming at him more than makes up for the terrible afternoon.

 

"Yes! Lance still has it, baby!" he practically sings.

 

"Please don't give yourself too much credit. You did get me involved in a traffic accident."

 

The sight of Lance's instant pouty glare forces him to stifle a laugh. For all the trouble he's caused him, Lance really does seem like a nice guy. Maybe this'll be good. It almost makes up for the fact that his bike is broken.

 

Almost.

 

Keith decides to not let that detail slide right away.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on tumblr @ espressopidge (vld-only tumblr) and ghiblirey (my main)


End file.
